Running Club Read online

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  I’m running in the dark instead of sleeping like I should be. It’s last year around this same time of year, and my lungs are burning, sucking in pollen and bugs as I run through the evening chill. My heart is beating, not faster maybe, but definitely harder than it ever has in the past. Or so it seems. About six feet in front of me, the pale apparition of a man, the Norwegian, floats always just out of reach. It’s as if he can see my attempts at surging without even turning around. We are on the last mile, and somehow I’ve managed to keep up with him for the first two miles, but I can’t seem to close the gap now. This is no bad dream where my shoes are stuck to the floor like they’re made of gum. This is instead a fairly accurate memory of the last time I raced the Norwegian. The last of two times that he has beaten me.

  Maybe he can hear my cadence increasing when I try to catch up with him and he just pushes himself that much harder until my will is eroded, and we settle into a new cruising speed, noticeably faster than the last. Maybe he can hear my breathing getting louder, closer. Maybe he can just feel me trying to close the gap. I would put none of these things past his ability. He is smooth and has the stamina of a Viking.

  He is also devilishly fast and makes it look like he’s not even trying. My limbs are barely holding onto a semblance of coordination and rhythm, while he seems to glide more than run. I surge again. He senses me closing in, but this time when he counters with his own surge, I look very deep inside myself for an extra gear. And I find it. I get close as I speed up, running about a six minute pace now. Definitely not out of the question for either of us, but a tough speed to maintain for the last mile of the race. I get close enough to know I’m going to pass him, and then he puts on his brakes right in front of me. There’s not enough time for me to get out of the way, and I run into him just as he takes off again. By the time I recover from almost falling, I look up to see the Norwegian running like a ghost even further ahead, now solidly out of my grasp. Moments later he crosses the finish line and is greeted by the cheers of his club members.

  I finish the race, placing only second.